


Gifts and Burdens

by Echo_Mirage



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Extremely productive and important melodramatic brooding, Fire Godlike, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo_Mirage/pseuds/Echo_Mirage
Summary: "...but she was not alone here and visible grief, for a queen, required privacy."Elehal reflects on the honor and weight being a Watcher carries with it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Gifts and Burdens

**Author's Note:**

> Re reading all my GGK novels and picking out lines to use as prompts b/c why not. This ones from Sailing to Sarantium.

Always, there were eyes upon him.

It was to be expected, given what he was -- a being of fire and metal made in Magran's own image. Elehal would have been conspicuous in the body of an orlan, let alone the massive frame of an aumaua. People stared, and he did not resent them for it. Had used it in his favor, more than once. The delicate work of diplomacy benefited a great deal from the kind of presence that turned the eyes of a room simply by entering it. 

There were more of them now though. And he felt their weight more keenly.

It was an honor, he reminded himself sternly, watching the sea with folded arms from the main deck of  _ The Godhammer _ , to have the trust of so many placed on his shoulders. A gift. Fate or the gods or his own two legs had set him on a path that allowed him to do real good in the world. To lighten, in what small way he could, the burdens of the kith that lived in it. A fire in the darkness was the oldest kind of safety. 

The boatswain's voice cut through the low roar of the waves, orders shouted and names called. The crew responded swiftly and skillfully, racing to make the minute adjustments to keep the ship on course. His crew. His ship. There was a thrill of pride in that, in making bright eyed, passionate dreams of the future relayed over campfires or tavern benches into something real and solid. And  _ The Godhammer  _ was a beautiful ship. Her name had earned him no shortage of incredulous and scandalized looks, and more than a few sharp words from Xoti and Edér, but he had been insistent. A private joke, of sorts. Magran had killed Eothas once before, now her chosen hounded him across the Deadfire. The goddess of trials and fire finished what she started. One way or another. 

It also meant twelve more lives he was responsible for. That looked to him to lead them through the many perils of the sea to the next safe harbor, and the next, and to the one after that. Ngati was not forgiving of bad calls or errors in judgement. He was the captain. He had a duty. Beneath the mainmast Irrena and Vizzini began to sing as they set to the eternal sailors task of mending ropes and securing knots. His crew. His ship. 

They were sailing to Neketaka, where Elehal would speak with the queen -- his queen? Was he still Huana, after all the turnings his life had made? Had he ever been? -- about fleets, and cannons, and choices that would set the course of every life in the Archipelago.  _ The gods have delivered us an advantage we sorely need.  _ Another trust. Another set of eyes turned towards him. They were doing something good. Something necessary. But the enormity of it bore down on him like a tidal wave. There was no way to know every possible effect shifting the balance of power in the Deadfire might have. No way to know what paths their actions would set before each of its people, or which ones they might close. _ Wheresoever the Duskspeaker walks, chaos follows in his wake.  _ He had made a great many choices in his life. Would answer for them, when the time came. He had broken a promise made to a god, and people had died for it. People who would not have known or understood what was happening or why they had incited the anger of the gods, because they hadn’t.

He had. 

Always, there were eyes upon him. Kith and god. Trust and judgement. He had only ever wanted to help.

“There you are.”  A voice from somewhere just below his shoulder called Elehal gently back to the land of the living: the scent of salt and fish in the air, the solid, sturdy timber beneath his feet, the impossibly pale blue eyes watching him with patient concern at his side. 

“Aloth,” He leaned down to place a kiss on the wizards’ forehead, “I didn’t hear you coming, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s no matter.” He turned and leaned against the railing beside Elehal, his posture uncharacteristically relaxed, “You seemed… preoccupied.” 

Aloth, of all people, would understand the weight a single decision could carry. Would know what it was to live with that weight, after. 

“I was.” Elehal considered his next words carefully. Any amount of time spent in easy companionship with the wind and the sea and the person he loved had always been -- was becoming more of -- a rare luxury. One he was reluctant to darken with talk of gods and souls and burdens carried. He crossed his arms over his chest in mock anger, “You’ve distracted me from a very important and productive melodramatic brooding session. I’ll have to start all over now.” Aloth smiled at that, a spark of amusement brightening his eyes. A gift. 

“My apologies. Edér got tired of playing dice with Tekēhu and I feared he might turn to me next if I stayed belowdecks.” 

“Mmm. A terrible fate, indeed.” He could imagine the scene likely playing out beneath their feet as they spoke, found some comfort in the warmth and safety of it. He had found good friends, through everything. Good people to have at his side. The best. Edér’s fingers dug into his arm as he told him what he had seen in the echo of his brothers’ soul. _ There has to be more. Tell me there’s more. You were supposed to find answers.  _ Blood on the flank of the white stag as Sagani knelt by its head. More blood on the ground, the beasts, the Glanfathans, enough to leave the soil soft and sticking. The priest abandoned by his goddess. Visions of his shattered soul leaking wrath and betrayal like gouts of flame. The world was not a place of certainties. There were so many ways for a person to be lost. 

Elehal looked down at Aloth and wondered -- not for the first time-- what he was looking for. What it was he needed --  _ wanted _ Elehal to be. Whether or not he was capable of being that for him, whatever it was. 

Somewhere along the way he had become someone both the living and the dead looked to for answers. Souls clung to him like cobwebs, like moths. A light to guide the way through the night. Sure, solid ground to stand on. Safe harbor. Old needs. Important ones. He could be those things, could  _ make _ himself be those things. 

He would be worthy of that trust, whatever private doubts he might harbor. The Hound of Eothas was not allowed to be uncertain. Not while eyes were upon him.  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
